


The Last Half Hour

by Million_Moments



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: End of the World, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Million_Moments/pseuds/Million_Moments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a prophecy to turn a profit, but Richard was unimpressed by the impending end of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Half Hour

**Author's Note:**

> Some suspension of reality required, and a few instances of bad language. And I will not have gotten much of the voodoo stuff correct, but remember it is a charlatan doing it anyway! I think in one of the episodes, Richard says he is ‘more Church of England’. He also shows extreme scepticism of anything spiritual throughout the show though, and I have expanded on that aspect of his personality for this story. I acknowledge that the beliefs I chose to give him, though, may not actually be canon.

Magdalene Auguste put on one hell of a show, which is why Dwayne went to see her. For a time after Angelique Morel predicted her own murder on the beach, he’d kept away from this sort of thing. As time passed, he realised that there wasn’t any harm in it. And after all, if he hadn’t been there when Angelique put on her show, they might not have caught her daughter’s killer. Magdalene might be faking it all, or she might actually have sort of supernatural abilities, but what she definitely had was talent. She could pick out the truth of things. The question was could she speak to the dead, and speak to the Lwa, or was she just really good at psychology?

Plus his date for the evening wanted to go, and a woman that hot would always get what she wanted from Dwayne. Except, perhaps, an engagement ring. The place was packed out as usual, largely locals with the odd tourist thrown in. It was the interval, for lack of a better word, anyway Magdalene was ‘resting’ after contacting the spirts, though still able to see private clients, for a price of course. Dwayne had talked Anabelle, his date, out of seeking her out. Instead they had a little cuddle in one of the many darkened corners of the venue. Dwayne didn’t usually go for women in glasses, especially thick rimmed ones like Anabelle wore, but she somehow made them sexy.

Anabelle readjusted those frames now, askew from their activities, and said breathlessly, “I think Magdalene is building up to a big prediction tonight! Can’t you just _feel_ the power in the room?”

Dwayne had feelings, but they weren’t do with the atmosphere in the room. Not wanting to dampen Anabelle’s enthusiasm he nodded and said, “Oh yes. Er, what Lwa do you think is coming?” He slid his hand further up her thigh, “I think I can feel Erzulie at work!”

Anabelle slapped his hand away, noting the lights were coming up on stage again. There went Dwayne’s idea to suggest they sneak home now. She grabbed him by the hand and pulled them through the crowds, to grab some seats close to the stage. “I want to be able to _feel_ her power.” Dwayne was starting to wonder if there were some quirks sexiness couldn’t make up for.

Magdalene stalked on to the stage suddenly. She did not sit on the chair placed there, but kicked it over. There was a collective gasp from the audience. Ms Auguste’s usual corkscrew curls seemed wilder somehow, her eyes darker. When she smiled, Dwayne noticed her canines for the first time. Anabelle grabbed his hand, pushing her chair backwards and away from the stage now.

“I’m not alone,” Magdalene said simply. She looked around the room, her eyes stopping on nearly every person, including Dwayne who physically recoiled from the look. There was no talking in the room – just the sound of two hundred chairs being shifted nervously and the rapid breathing of an increasingly nervous audience. “Baron Kriminel is here.”

Loud mutters raised from the audience. Dwayne heard the doors swing open as some people decided not to stick around. He was shocked, none of the people on Saint Marie who drew audiences like Magdalene Auguste ever channelled the more aggressive of the Lwa, the spirit of a murderer sentenced to death didn’t usually go down well with the tourists.

She continued to pace up and down the stage, “He is not in full possession… _yet._ ” She told the audience, her voice deepening. “But he has come to warn us. The Baron is unhappy with this unjust world, more than unhappy, he is made despondent by it – and he is made wrathful.” She stopped, head quirked to one side, eyes focused on a spot where only her eyes saw something. Magdalene shuddered, “He has judged all of us unworthy, and thinks the world should be swept clean. I can feel his wrath.” Her face contorted with pain, and she fell to her knees, howling. Oh God, Dwayne thought, this was Angelique all over again. Anabelle had thrown her arms around him now, her face buried in his shoulder and she trembled slightly. What did Magdalene think she was doing? People paid to hear things that make them feel better…unless, unless she was telling the truth, and Boron Kriminel was at this very moment trying to take full possession of her.

“There is only one hope for us all!” She raised her arms in the air, “THIS ISLAND MUST ATONE!”

There was a shift in the audience, as people leant forward, eager to learn how disaster could be avoided. “We must atone for _all_ of the wrong we have done, or the end will come. The ground will shake, the sea rise up, and this island will be torn apart! This very world will end.” Her eyes opened. “You have until 4 o’clock tomorrow. Begin your atonement, or prepare for your death.” Magdalene then collapsed on to her side, for all the world in a deep faint. Some of her more devoted followers immediately sprung on to the stage to tend to her.

Annabelle peaked out, tears wet on her cheeks. “There, there, darlin’,” Dwayne told her, running his hand up and down her arm. “Magdalene went a bit overboard on the theatrics,” he said, trying to reassure himself that it couldn’t have been _real_. The Chief had said it was all a trick with Angelique, and he had been right, he would totally say the same about this. But that wasn’t stopping Dwayne from mentally reviewing the many women he had scorned in his life. That was far too much atonement for one lifetime.

“You think that was _theatre_?” Annabelle said, pulling away and glaring at him. “That was _real_ power! I must go to her to find out how to atone. Perhaps she can pray for me and intercede. Oh Lord, I should never have slept with my sister’s boyfriend!” And with that little revelation, she climbed over the chairs and on to the stage to join a now reviving Magdalene.

“Well, there go my plans for the rest of the evening,” Dwayne muttered to himself. He decided to join those who were heading to the exit. Though maybe he would stop for a drink on the way home…just to help wind him down after all the… _excitement_.

 

* * *

 

 

Richard was actually whistling as he swung the bolt cutter by his side. Camille stalked along just behind him, she was still too pissed off to walk next to him. Somehow, the fact she didn’t recognise the tune was even more infuriating. Grinding her teeth as he repeated the same loop of eight notes again, she skipped lightly forward and grabbed his arm to pull him to a halt. He let out a sigh, further piquing her annoyance, before turning to face her. “What is it Camille?” She could sense the missing ‘now’ in that question.

“You don’t have to take such, such, such _glee_ in it, you know?”

Richard frowned, “Glee? I am not gleeful.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “You’re _whistling_ ,” she said pointedly.

He continued to give her an innocent look, “So? It’s a lovely day!” And so it was, blue skies, birds singing, another glorious Saint Marie day. But Richard had never appreciated a nice day on this island before, so there was no way Camille was falling for that one.

“Yes,” she said, arms crossed and left foot lighting tapping against the ground. “Isn’t it a beautiful day to go down to the harbour and destroy the symbols of peoples love for each other?”

“For God’s sake Camille!” He cried, switching the heavy bolt cutter to his other hand. “We have been over this. I am not _happy_ or _gleeful_ or whatever else about having to do this, but it does have to be done. People were given fair warning!”

Richard referred to, of course, the signs that had been put up by the council. A few months ago a new footbridge had been opened over the creek that entered the harbour. It was a wonderfully romantic spot to watch the sunset, Camille had paused there sometimes on her way home from work. She had no need to cross the bridge, but would glance up at the silhouettes of the couples standing in each other’s arms, and smile. One of those couples had placed a padlock on the bridge, throwing the key into the creek below, as couples do all over the world – Paris, Ljubljana, Moscow, and now Saint Marie. That had started a trend, and soon the bridge was filling up with locks.

An inspector from the city council, who Camille heard had used to work for some London Borough as no Caribbean council had ever been so efficient, declared the bridge may become structurally unstable. So signs were placed up with twee wording: “Love might be forever but padlocks are not. Do not place padlocks past this sign.” But, naturally, when there was room nowhere else, the padlocks had appeared outside of the ‘designated area’. Perhaps people had hoped that nobody would be so callous as to remove the symbol of their love. But that was because they had never met Richard Poole.

“Please,” Camille told him now. “You practically skipped off to fetch the bolt cutters when that man from the council turned up to ask for help.”

“There was no skipping.” She stared him down. He shoulders sank. “Perhaps,” he said shortly. “I am interested in trying out the suitability of our equipment. These bolt cutters are new, after all, and need to be put through their paces in case they are needed in more, um, urgent matters.” And with that he turned on his heel and continued towards the bridge.

“But aren’t you worried about ruining these people’s relationships?” She cried after him.

That got his attention. He came to an abrupt stop and walked quickly back to her. “ _Ruining_ their relationships? Seargent Bordey, you are a police officer, you can’t possibly believe these locks are the only reason couples of still together? That they are invested with some sort of magical power which means their removal will immediately lead to the breakdown of marriages?” He didn’t give her a chance to respond. “Oh, wait, I forgot who I am talking to. You probably do believe that. Well, I tell you what Camille, if after the removal of the padlocks there is a sudden global increase in divorce, I’ll remember to tell you that you were right and quit my job to become a marriage counsellor to try to atone.”

Camille was too shocked to respond. She was angry at his assuming he knew what she was thinking, and also distracted by the idea of him as a marriage counsellor. There was probably no job he was less suited to. Love was magical, but an act like the removal of the locks could break the illusion, and make people question their relationship. With no other option, she trailed him to the bridge and glowered as he removed the offending locks one by one, dumping them into a cloth bag. There was no way she was helping him with this task. It clearly frustrated him, her standing there doing and saying nothing, but he chose not to speak the entire time. Finally he was finished, the weight of the bolt cutter now counter balanced by the heavy bag of padlocks in the other hand.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” she said, as he trundled past her. She was annoyed at herself that she was unable to keep the petulance out of her voice. Richard gave her a blank look. “About the locks,” she explained. “I wasn’t implying they were magical. I was thinking about the…disappointment a couple might experience if they came back here and found the lock was gone. It could ruin the magic…of their relationship.”

Still he didn’t get it. “If their relationship isn’t strong enough to survive a padlock going missing, maybe they shouldn’t be together. Marriages, partnerships, things like that need to be _worked_ on, not rely on magic.” He sounded like he was practising for that marriage counselling job, which only annoyed Camille the more.

“Oh my God you really don’t have any romance in your soul! Love isn’t something you learn from a book, and as long as you follow some rules, everything is ok. You can’t _tame_ it and make it behave. It comes out of nowhere, but at exactly the same time doesn’t. It makes magic and it needs magic and romance and things beyond the material world in order to survive! IT ISN’T LOGICAL!”

Richard was a little taken aback by her outburst, and Camille was a little embarrassed by it – not that she would ever admit it. A group of women in the shop opposite were pretending to browse, clearly amused by their argument and desperate to overhear what happened next. An elderly lady shuffling down the street gave Camille a knowing wink as slowly worked her way past them, still standing in silence, as she waited for Richard’s reply. He would, in reality, be well within his rights to pull her up for insubordination.

“But locks _are_ material things…”

“ARGH!” Richard jumped slightly at her cry of frustration. “Fine.” She said, finally accepting she was never going to get anywhere with him. “Fine.” She repeated. “Let’s go back to the station.”

They walked in silence for a little while. Then suddenly Richard ventured, “There are several studies that show the chemical reactions which cause feeling of romantic love only last for a limited amount of time, and thus relationships will break down unless…”

Camille held up a hand to stop him talking, “You think that love is a series of chemical reactions.” He opened his mouth to reply, but it was _her_ turn not to let him this time. “Oh wait, I forgot who _I_ am talking to, of course you do. And it explains so much.”

She stormed off, increasing her pace exponentially, and it was awhile before he caught up with her, panting slightly from the effort of dragging the locks and bolt cutter along. “What does it explain?” He asked, surprising her. There was a sincerity in his question, a genuine curiosity that she hadn’t expected. The problem was there was no easy way for her to answer. Not without risk, at least. Instead she reached out, relieving him of the weight of the bolt cutters, and said, “Oh nothing, let’s just stop arguing about it. I’ll make you some of that posh tea you got for your birthday, _Maman_ lent me a tea strainer.” She didn’t know if he deserved the peace offering, but she honestly didn’t want to fight anymore and have it bet awkward between them all day. And he got grumpy if he didn’t have his ten o’clock cup of tea. And preferably one every hour after that. He gave her one of his rare smiles, which somehow made Camille forgive him for everything that had just happened. No doubt if he knew the full effect of his smiles on her, he would probably pull them out more often. She wondered if she would eventually become immune to them.

“That’s the right attitude!” Tamil, a man she saw in her mother’s bar enough to say hello and know his name, slapped her on the shoulder, appearing from nowhere. “People shouldn’t be fighting today, it’ll just mean more to atone for!”

“That was bizarre,” Camille said, watching him make his way down the street.

“People have been acting a bid odd all morning. On the way in one of the market stall holders gave me a six bunches of bananas, and openly admitted he had been overcharging me the entire time I have been here,” Richard told her.

“I wondered why you had all those bags of bananas behind your desk…I assumed they were evidence.”

“What from a series of banana burglaries? No. But that isn’t the only weird thing. Cars actually stopped at the zebra crossing, and people had formed a queue to get on one of the buses and were actively insisting that other people take their seat. It’s like the whole island has gone…British.” Camille would have liked to defend the manners of her fellow islanders, but even she knew queuing and driving calmly were not exactly strong suits of the people who lived here. She was also slightly amused Richard hadn’t realised Terry tended to lean a little on the scales when he was weighing fruit. The guy had been working that trick on the market since she was a young girl, her mother had taught her to watch him like a hawk. Past retirement age and still up to the old tricks.

They reached the market then, and noticed a lot of people seemed to be leaving Terry’s stall laden down with far more fruit that usual. “Terry,” Camille cried over the head of the crowd that had gathered. “You having a going out of business sale?”

“No, my pretty girl, just making up for some of my little _additions_ to bills in the past.”

Camille gave Richard a look, and shrugged, “Guess he grew a conscience.”  

Just then one of the women laden with fruit, carried in her arms rather than bags for unknown reasons, backed into Richard, causing it to spill everywhere. “Oh I am _so_ sorry!” She cried. “Did I hurt you? Are you okay?”

“I’m quite all right madam.” He had, in reality, been barely bumped into by the women. “Um, do you want some help,” he bent over the retrieve an escaping pineapple.

“I’ll get a bag off Terry,” Camille offered.

“Oh no!” The woman cried. “He only has plastic. So bad for the environment, and I’ve used so many in my time. It’s a lot to make up for. I’ll be fine carrying it.” And she toddled off, fruit towered precariously, a banana shoved in her back pocket.

“Okay,” said Camille. “Maybe we should call in Mulder and Scully.”

“Who are they?” Richard asked. “Psychologists?”

Camille just looked at him. “You’ve never heard of Mulder and Scully?”

Richard just shook his head slowly, frowning. At her continued look of disbelief he said, “Look, I know it is only a small island, but I haven’t had time to introduce myself to everyone yet! If I should know them, perhaps you can introduce me later.”

Camille grinned. “Sure,” she said. “You can come get to know them at mine one night this week. Come on let’s drop these off at the station and I’ll make you that cup of tea.”

 

* * *

 

 

Richard wondered if he could get scrap money for the padlocks. Which would be donated to a local charity, of course. At the same time, a little voice that sounded an awful lot like Camille niggled at him, saying he should keep them in case somebody wanted to reclaim them. Though what they would do with a broken padlock he had no idea. And the station was crowded out with random items and files that should have been digitised years ago as it was. Dwayne was out on the patio, having a rather intense conversation with a young woman. Richard had the strong suspicion that it didn’t have anything to do with police work. “But you have a _duty_ to tell people,” he heard the woman saying. Oh, perhaps it was police work.

Fidel was sitting behind his desk, partially hidden by a couple of pineapples and a bag of oranges. He gave them a swift smile. “Did you know,” he said. “That sometimes Terry overcharges for fruit? He gave me these to make up for it.”

“We’d heard,” Camille said with a smooth smile. Much to Richard’s delight, she headed over the put the kettle on.

“What is going on out there,” Richard asked Fidel, nodding towards the door. He shoved the padlocks under his desk, leaving the decision as to what to do with them until later.

Fidel shook his head, “Oh that is Dwayne’s date from last night.”

“Ah, no need to say anymore.”

From the patio, they all heard Dwayne cry, “ _How much?_ ”

Camille came over then, carrying his cup of tea with a deep and fake reverence. She had rather touched him (not that he would admit that) by buying a special blend of tea he had mentioned once from Wittard’s for his birthday. Unfortunately the effect had been rather ruined, as it was loose leaf and Camille did not share her mother’s skill at tea making. She had thus served it to him with the leaves still in it. But he could see this one was beautiful. She passed it to him, her fingers brushing his, resting there longer than really necessary. And in that moment, Richard felt the earth move. Camille’s eyes leapt to his, and he wondered if she felt it too. If this is what she had been talking about earlier when she had been going on about romance and lo…

And then hot tea splashed on to his hand, and his stapler fell off the desk, and Richard realised the ground was _literally_ moving.

A pineapple rolled across the room as the ground lurched again. “Woah!” He said. “Are we supposed to go to a doorway or something?” He found himself gripping on to his desk and glancing around, wondering what would come tumbling down next. Was this building designed to stand such shaking? It felt like a lot of shaking.

“Oh!” said Camille, stumbling slightly but quickly regaining her balance. “I don’t think so, this is just a little one.”

“ _This_ is a little one?” said Richard, unable to take his eyes off the ceiling fan that looked in danger of dropping on to their heads. The ground gave another shudder, and then trembled as if having one last grumble. Richard thought it was over, he wasn’t entirely confident because his legs seemed to be still shaking somewhat anyway.

“Richard?” Camille said, reaching out and gentle placing her fingers on his arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Said Fidel, who was retrieving his pineapple and watching Richard with an air of concern. “Must have been your first earthquake, Sir, and they can be a bit scary.”

“Scared?” said Richard, straitening up rapidly even though he almost fell over. “I’m not scared. I am absolutely fine.” He wiped his sweaty palms down his jacket. Somehow they both looked more concerned than before. Richard made a concerted effort to lower his voice back to its normal tone for his next question, “Now is there some kind of protocol? Do we need to check for damages?”

“WE AREN’T ATONEING FAST ENOUGH!” Came an anguished cry from just outside of the station. The young women, her thick rimmed glasses askew and one flip flop missing, stumbled into the station. “Who is in charge here?”

Richard cleared his throat, “That would be me.” He noted that Dwayne was sidling in now, looking…not abashed. Richard would have expected abashed. Instead he looked really rather concerned. He didn’t even look at Richard as he made his way to his desk, where he retrieved his phone and began to scroll through the numbers.

This was such an odd day.

“He won’t listen to me!” The unnamed woman said widely, pointing at Dwayne. “ _You_ have to warn people, to get the message out, they must atone! Those who can’t must see Magdalene!”

“Madam,” said Richard. “I am afraid you will need to provide more details. Perhaps Seargent Bordey…” Camille, who had been bustling round her desk, looked up at her name and titled her head to one side, staring at him. She knew he was trying to fob the woman off on her. “Or I could get your name and some more details.”

“I don’t have time for this,” she told him, emphasising her point by gesticulating towards the clock on the wall. “He saw it,” she said, arm swinging around to Dwayne one again, who jolted out of his reserve. “He knows the truth, and what needs to be done. The Baron is angry at our slow response.” She turned and looked straight at Dwayne. “The ground has shaken to wake us up to this reality.”

Exit stage right, Richard thought to himself, as she left. Everyone instantly turned to Dwayne for an explanation. When he didn’t respond, Camille prompted him, “Well?”

Dwayne blew out a long breath. “Well, you know Magdalene Auguste?”

“Yes,” said Fidel and Camille simultaneously, whilst Richard also responded, “No.” Camille suppressed her sigh, but Richard spotted the action. “What, does she work with Mulder and Scully?” Assuming this was somebody else he was supposed to know.

“Mulder and Scully?” Fidel repeated.

“I’ll explain later,” Camille said quickly, making Richard wonder how much of an explanation was actually needed.

“Mulder and Scully probably would investigate her,” Dwayne suggested. “Anyway, we went to see her last night.”

“Hang on,” said Richard. “I don’t know who she is yet.”

“She is like a kind of free-lance _mambo_ combined with…a medium,” Camille explained.

“A _mambo_?”

“A priestess in the voodoo religion,” Fidel offered. Richard turned towards him to listen, “Magdalene holds shows were she communes with both the spirits of the departed, often the loved ones of members of the audience, but she also sometimes is visited or possessed by the Lwa…”

“Which are the spirits, based on Catholic saints, like Erzulie,” Richard finished, feeling the need to prove he did know something about the culture of the island. “So what you’re saying is this woman is a con-artist. Right, carry on.”

“Hang on,” said Camille. It was exactly what he had expected her to say. “How can you be so dismissive? You haven’t even met the woman! She had been a real comfort to some of the people on this island.”

“Camille is right, Sir,” Fidel chimed in, immediately disappointing Richard. He must have spotted the look on Richard’s face because he looked at his desk and muttered, “I’ve heard she has made some remarkable insights and predictions.”

“And she made a hell of a prediction last night,” Dwayne started. “Claimed to be talking to Baron Kriminel.”

There were mutterings of surprise from Camille and Fidel, but the name of course meant nothing to Richard. “A convicted murderer,” Camille supplied.

“I’ve not come across a reference to any peers that hold the title of Baron in Saint Marie’s history especially not any that killed somebody, you think that would be in the books,” Richard said thoughtfully. “What did his Lordship want then?”

“No,” said Camille, hand raised to her eyes and shaking her head slowly. “The Baron is one of the Lwa.”

He really needed to get a book on Voodoo. “Ok then, what did his Lwaship want?” he joked, though nobody smiled.

Dwayne then related the events of his previous evening. “She specifically said,” he stressed. “That the ground would shake, the sea would rise up, the island be torn apart and the world end!” He paused for emphasis. “I thought it was all theatre. But Anabelle came here this morning, saying we needed to spread the word, and that the whole island should atone. She’s convinced the world will end at 16:00 if we don’t make up for past wrongs, and I was trying to calm her down, but then _the ground did shake_!”

Richard leaned against his desk, and observed his colleagues. They all looked genuinely concerned that this might be real. Fidel’s hand was drifting towards the phone, whilst Camille frowned and was subconsciously ticking off something on her fingers. Probably recounting the hearts of men she had broken – how would one atone for that? Oh for God’s sake, now Richard was starting to think that way.

He stood up, walked to the centre of the room to stand amongst them, and said clearly, “That is the most ridiculous thing I have _ever_ heard. The world is _not_ going to end at 16:00 today.”

None of them looked convinced “But Sir,” Fidel said. “She predicted the ground would shake, and it did!”

“Plus all of the other predictions she has made that have come true,” Dwayne piped up.

“This is an area of high geological activity, there is a volcano for goodness sake,” Richard went over to his computer, quickly searching google. “She probably felt a minor tremor over the past few days and correctly _guessed_ there would be another one. Threw it into her little act to add a level of realism should it occur! She got lucky. There!” He cried, turning with some difficulty his old cathode ray monitor around so they could see the screen. “Two nights ago, minor tremor at 3:23 am. Most people probably just slept through it.”

“Or it could have been Baron Kriminel initial communication with her,” Camille offered. Richard got the feeling that she was deliberately trying to wind him up, especially when she continued, “And how do you explain those other correct predictions?”

“Con artists and charlatans like her and always good at psychology, at cold reading people. You know she probably has an equal number of incorrect predictions, but people never remember those. It’s called confirmation bias.”

Still, nobody declared he was right, of course, and they better just go back to work. “Christ! There are no ghosts, no Baron Kriminel and thus no end of the world!” Camille opened her mouth to argue more but Richard just pointed at her, “And don’t tell me I just can’t dismiss an entire set of religious beliefs because I can and will when they wrongly predict the end of the world!” She huffed, turned on her heel and went back to her desk.

There was a long, somewhat awkward pause. Everyone jumped when the phone rang. Fidel answered, and Richard found himself hoping that it was a report of some crime so they could have a change of topic. “Right,” he heard Fidel saying. “Well just do your best…no we haven’t had any reports…well it might be, or it might be related to other things….Er, I can’t confirm or deny it. Okay….Bye for now.”

“What is it?” Richard asked before Fidel had even replaced the phone in the cradle.  

“It was the, um, telephone exchange Sir. Apparently the system is rather overloaded by calls all of a sudden. They were concerned emergency calls might not get through.”

“Right,” said Richard, who noted that Fidel had addressed the desk rather than him directly. “Probably just people checking up on loved ones and such after that tremor. Anything else?”

“They did have some other enquires,” Fidel said carefully.

“About,” Richard prompted. When Fidel wasn’t forthcoming, he knew, “About the world ending? How quickly is that spreading for God’s sake?”

“It is a small island,” Camille muttered, and he shot her a dark look.

“They just asked if it was true,” Fidel said, holding his hands palms forward. “A lot of people getting through to the operators were mentioning it.”

Richard slammed a hand down on the desk. The last of his abandoned tea from earlier slopped over some paperwork, only frustrating him further. “They asked if it was true the world was going to end at four and you replied ‘I can’t confirm or deny it’?”

“Well I can’t until after four!” Fidel tried to defend himself.

“YES YOU CAN!” Richard roared. Everyone grimaced, but he didn’t care. “Right,” he said, grabbing the box of emergency radios off the side. “I am going to the exchange, and Government house, and dropping off these radios so that messages can be passed on to us if necessary whilst the phone lines are clogged up by people gossiping about the non-existent end of the world and trying to atone for their sins! If anybody else asks, the official stance of the Royal Saint Marie Police Force is that the world will NOT BE ENDING AT FOUR! Is that clear?” A chorus of “Yes, Sir!” followed his question, and Richard marched out of the station without looking back.

 

* * *

 

 

When it came to Richard, Camille alternated from being sure that he was a shy man who repressed his feelings, to being certain he was completely dead inside. Right now, she was in the ‘dead inside’ camp. She began to click her pen up and down, up and down, as she considered his antics so far that day. There had been simply no need for his level of dismissiveness earlier, no matter what his personal beliefs were. Of course, Camille doubted if he had any beliefs. If science couldn’t prove it was there, then it wasn’t there. And feelings were, apparently, just chemical reactions. You would think that science would have found a way to neutralise them by now. Losing patience with her train of thought, Camille threw the pen down on the desk and watched as it bounced off, and rolled away.

The other two didn’t comment, they were two engrossed in their own activities. As soon as the Inspector was out of sight, Dwayne had stepped outside to make a series of phone calls. Camille hoped he wasn’t trying to ‘atone’ to every woman he had ever hurt, because there was no way he could get through all of them by four.

Fidel was leaned low over a sheet of paper, he seemed to be making a list but kept changing his mind, scratching things out and adding things at a rate of knots. Camille wondered if she should do the same. Did thinking negative thoughts about Richard have to be atoned for? God she hoped not. Maybe the actual outbursts she had had – though really he was equally bad. They both didn’t know how to keep their emotions in check around each other sometimes.

Not that Richard has emotions, Camille thought to herself. He’s dead inside. Isn’t he?

God, was it 16:00 yet?

 

* * *

 

 

Richard took his time going back to the station, observing the island and its people. There seemed to be a lot of people hugging and crying in the street. He passed the animal shelter, where staff were struggling to drag in boxes and boxes of donated food. Some middle aged men were just finishing cleaning a wall, that the day before had been heavily gratified.  

Yes, the people of Saint Marie treated a threat to the end of the world quite seriously. And since there was no hoarding of food and boarding up of houses, Richard supposed this prediction may actually have quite posit….

He braked the jeep hard. A man of a similar age, with considerably less hair, had just approached the wall cleaning group, let out a howl and punched the man who seemed to be in charge, with enough force to knock his hat off. Richard leapt from the jeep, if you could call what he did a leap at his age, and hurried over. Luckily, the offender didn’t seem interested in any further punches, but he was still genuinely distressed.

“How could you, Henri, you know I needed to clean some graffiti as well!” He was telling Henri, who was rubbing his jaw and wincing in pain.

“We just got really into it, my friend, it was done before we realised! I’m sorry! Come on, Alan, we’ll find some more, don’t worry!”

“But now I’ve punched you!” Alain wailed.

“Yes,” said Richard. “You did. Are you okay, Sir?” he asked Henri, who nodded. “And you are?”

“Alan, Alan Roche.”

“Well, Mr Roche, I’m arresting you for assault, you do not have to say –“

“STOP!” Shouted Henri. It wasn’t the first time Richard had been interrupted whilst arresting somebody. It wasn’t even the first time he had been interrupted arresting somebody by the victim, but he did wish people wouldn’t do it. Totally put him off his stride. “I don’t want to press charges!”

“Contrary to popular, you don’t have to press charges for us to be able to press charges,” Richard said with what he felt was a remarkable level of patience. “I witnessed him assault you. You’re clearly in pain, injured, why wouldn’t you want him charged?”

“Because I kind of deserved it!”

“Deserved it?” Richard repeated, running a hand through his hair. “For cleaning the graffiti? Good God…”

“No, not that,” Henri stated quickly. “I mean, that is why he punched me, but he also should punch me for making out with his girlfriend Bethany about an hour after they had broken up.”

“I _knew_ you snuck off with her!” Alan said, sounding triumphant. “Where did you go? Bike sheds? Or over the fence and down by the creek?”

“Creek,” Henri admitted.

“Hang on a minute,” Richard raised his hands. “Bike sheds? How long ago was this?”

“Oh, er, September 1985?” Henri suggested.

“No, October,” Alan said. “I had already had my birthday.” Richard just opened and closed his mouth, unable to respond, they were talking about events that had happened 30 years ago. “But never mind that, I forgive you, and sorry about punching you too, mate. Emotions just got the better of me.”

As the two men ‘hugged it out’, a phrase Camille had taught him and a practise he never intended to take part in himself, Richard walked away. This was far too strange a day to be making arrests.

 

* * *

 

 

It was good for business, but it was also getting ridiculous. Catherine had noticed an increase in activity down the street on which her bar stood about half an hour after the earthquake, a small one that had luckily only smashed a few glasses and one precariously placed bottle of white wine. People had started hurrying down the street, making Catherine wonder if something had collapsed during the quake, but with no sirens she wasn’t too concerned. A quick peak out her door showed people to be queuing, a rather unusual occupation on Saint Marie.

Then, has time had gone one, the queue had expanded – gone right past her bar. The whole street was clogged with people, the odd vehicle trying to squeeze through. People were shouting out orders from the street and Catherine bringing them over, they didn’t want to leave the queue and lose their place. It didn’t take long to get the jist of what was going on and Catherine eventually decided she was going to have to do something about it, the whole thing just didn’t sit right. The street was also one of the major roads that led to the hospital, and she doubted an ambulance could easily navigate it at this stage. She tried to call her daughter but couldn’t get through, there seemed to be problems with the landlines across the island, and she had never got the hang of mobile phones.

So she had no option but to shut up shop, leaving a case of bottled water outside to prevent people suffering from dehydration, and force her way through the crowds to the station. “Where you off to Catherine?” Dillon, one of her regulars called after her.

“Police station!” She said, hoping he would just assume she was going to visit her daughter.

“Police station…” she heard Dillion echo back. “There’s a good point…” Catherine had no idea what that point was.

She was half way up the stairs when Richard appeared behind her. “Catherine,” he greeted her. Then he gave her a sidelong glance, “You here to see Camille?”

“I’m here to see any police officer!”

“Oh,” said Richard. “Is something wrong? Have you been the victim of a crime?”

“No not specifically, it is _Rue de Saint Lucie,_ ” she noticed Richard grimace at the French street name – many roads in Saint Marie retained their original French names. Why he couldn’t just accept that she would never understand. “It is _completely_ clogged up with people! I tried to call but I couldn’t get through. _Bounjour Camille_!” Her daughter rose as Catherine entered the station and hugged and kissed her.

“ _Bonjour Maman_!” Camille said with a warm smile. It was so lovely to have her daughter her after the time she had spent undercover. “What is completely clogged up with people?”

“ _Rue de Saint Lucie,_ ” Catherine reiterated.

“They are queuing to see Magdalene,” Dwayne guessed, and Catherine nodded in response. She told them about the level of congestion in detail. Richard actually put his head in his hands in despair. “And you know, I am not one to criticise other people’s beliefs usually, live and let live and all that, but to make a profit doesn’t seem right…”

“Profit?” Said Richard, his head quickly snapping up. “How is she making a profit?”

“Well…I just assumed her usual charges would apply…” Catherine said with some uncertainty.

Dwayne snorted, “Higher than usual, from what Anabelle told me. For £50 per wrongdoing, she will intercede with the Baron on your behalf, so your sins can be atoned for!”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THIS EARLIER?” Richard shouted, leaping to his feet and hurriedly dragging his jacket back on. “Come on, Camille!”

“Where are we going?”

“To arrest Magdalene Auguste of course!” He scurried out the door without a backwards glance.

Camille paused to hug her goodbye and whisper in her ear, “I lost your jade necklace swimming in the creek when I was 15! Sorry!”

Catherine smiled, “You think I didn’t already know? I forgive you! Now go, before Richard causes some kind of riot when he drags that woman off in handcuffs!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Why are we taking the jeep?” Camille asked him as she hurried to catch up. “Did you not hear _Maman_ say the whole street was congested? Probably much quicker if we walk over there. Are you really going to arrest her? What on earth for?”

Richard paused, midway through opening the door, and rested her forehead against the reasonably cool glass. Could she not stop and take a breath between questions? “Because I don’t want to drag her through the crowds of her admirers in handcuffs. Yes I did, but if you put the lights on and beep aggressively – basically your normal driving style – I am sure they’ll get the point and get out of the way. Yes, I am really going to arrest her. And for fraud. Can we go?”

“But…”

“Uh-uh!” Richard cried, wagging his finger at her. “No arguments, just get in and drive. You know where she is I assume?”

Camille hated it when he gave her orders. Well, when he gave her orders she didn’t agree with. She showed it now by placing her hands on her hips and staring him down, “Of course I know where she is.”

“Then let’s go,” he climbed in. Camille stood stock still for ten seconds, then her shoulders slumped and she marched to the driver’s side, slamming the door unsubtly as she got in. The woman seemed to have no control over her emotions – they were always apparent even to somebody as empathetically dense as him – and yet he still never knew what she was thinking. Yes, she was angry, but _why_ was she angry?

He would try to placate her with small talk, keep the promise he had made about occasionally having a conversation in the car. “So,” he began. “Mulder and Scully? Are they trading standards? Or some kind of scientists?”

Camille gave him a startled glance, her eyes coming off the road and causing the car to swivel and hit a pot hole Richard would have preferred they avoid. Having corrected the course of the vehicle, she answered his question with a question, “What makes you say that?”

“Well, Dwayne said that this Auguste woman was the sort of person they would investigate. They can’t be law enforcement, then I would definitely know who they are.”

“Oh right,” Camille said. She bit her lip and then answered, “Well Dana, Scully that is, she is actually a medical doctor. They check out the claims of people who, you know, believe they can talk to the dead. Or that monsters are in the attic.”

“Ah,” said Richard, knowingly. “She does the sectioning. Well I am glad I haven’t had to meet them yet, sectioning is always a rather sad and nasty business.”

Camille gave a little cough, and shot a sideways glance at him, but she didn’t correct him so Richard assumed his conclusion was correct. Scully and (he assumed) her assistant Mulder probably would be good people to introduce himself too. It would be nice to meet some nice, rational individuals as well.

They soon hit St. Lucie’s street which was, as promised, full of people. There was a queue, but Richard could sense the impatience. It was coming up to lunchtime and the sun was getting high in the sky, he feared there could be issues with people fainting soon. Camille, as previously instructed, beeped the horn vigorously but they still only made progress at snail’s pace.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, how far on foot from here?” Richard asked, as they were forced to come to a stop whilst some people who had set up deck chairs in the middle of the road to sit whilst they waited got up and shifted them away.

“Maybe two minutes on foot,” she replied. “If we use our elbows.”

“Pull over, then,” he instructed. “We’ll go get her on foot.”

Despite being used to navigating the crowded streets of London, Richard did not do well in the crowds of Saint Marie. This was because nobody actually ever touched each other in London, except in the terribly special circumstance of on British public transport, and then they did so whilst staring avidly anywhere but at the person they were touching. Things were different on Saint Marie. You didn’t just brush past people, you had to practically press against them. On a few occasions in bars and the like Camille had been forced to take hold of his hand and lead him through the crowd, so frustrated was she with his lack of progress. This turned out to be one such occasion. And, like every time before it, Richard tried not to think too hard about the feel of her hand in his. Especially his feelings concerning whether the sensation was pleasant or not. And extra especially making an effort to quash any musings about what it would be like to hold her hand in a situation where it wasn’t simply to get through a crowd.

The door to Ms Auguste’s…business, he supposed it should be called, seemed to be manned by the ‘lovely’ young lady of Dwayne’s …Anabelle he thought her name was. She appeared to have taken on the self-appointed role of receptionist, personal assistant and security guard all rolled in to one, standing as she was blocking the door, arms crossed, and demanding to know if slight elderly lady whose bun was rather askew ‘was usually a devotee of Magdalene Auguste, as those individuals were being given priority, naturally’. Camille turned and quickly raised her eyebrows at him, and for once he _did_ know what she was thinking.

“No way,” Richard said. “I am not pretending to need some kind of appointment with her. I do have some dignity you know.”

“It’ll be far quicker than trying to barge your way past. I’ve seen Anabelle in the gym and though she looks slight, you should see what she does to the punching bags…”

“If she assaults me, arrest her as well,” Richard ordered Camille. “I am sure _you_ can take her.”

And so, ignoring Camille’s cry to wait a moment, Richard marched straight up to Anabelle and presented her with his warrant card. “I need to see Ms Magdalene Auguste,” he told her firmly. “Now.”

Richard was prepared to face her wrath, and was just thinking he should have brought in an extra pair of cuffs, but instead Anabelle was delighted. “Oh! I knew Dwayne would do the right thing. I knew he felt the _real_ power in the room last night! You have come to hear for yourself, atone, and then get the word out even further?”

Richard was about to tell her he had no intention of doing any such thing, but then he was kicked in the ankle by Camille. Biting down hard to prevent himself from crying out he turned and gave her a look, but she just raised her eyebrows again. Letting out a short breath through his nose, he forced a smile on to his face and turned back, “Yes, indeed, and obviously so we don’t waste time we’ll need to see Ms Auguste as soon as possible.”

“To atone,” added Camille behind him.

Richard kept the smile fixed to his face. “Yes,” he said. “To atone.”

Anabelle leaned forward and clasped each of his arms, smiling warmly up at him, “ _Of course_. I will just need to know a little about, uh, what you need to atone for. So that we can properly work out your…donation to Ms Auguste for her intercession with the Lwa on your behalf.”

Richard blinked rapidly. He wasn’t good at lying. “Um, well,” he began, tugging at his ear, glancing quickly at Camille who just flicked her head to indicate he should continue. “It’s quite delicate, perhaps I could see Ms Auguste and she could indicate to you afterwards…”

Anabelle’s eyes drifted behind him, to where Camille stood, and she nodded solemnly as if she understood. Relieved, Richard was just turning to enter the room, but instead found Anabelle leading him a little away from the crowds and out of earshot. “There,” she said. “She can’t hear you, I assure you I am _extremely_ discrete – just as discrete as dear Magdalene. So what is it?”

“I…” Richard’s hand rubbed through his hair. This was ridiculous, what was he supposed to say? He very much doubted that if the Lwa existed, they cared he sometimes had inappropriate thoughts about his Detective Seargent. Or that he sometimes got pissed off and shouted if somebody put a wet teaspoon back into the sugar. Surely they would have bigger issues on their vast, omniscient minds?

“It’s ok,” Anabelle encouraged him.

“I had a friend once,” Richard said decisively. “She was my best friend actually. And she did something, to help me, stop me…messing everything up…but I…I didn’t want the help. I didn’t think I needed the help. I was ungrateful. And I haven’t spoken to her since.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, well, Magdalene can intercede. She has _real_ power. But I strongly suggest that you also call her yourself. Unless you can’t…had she passed?”

“Er,” Richard said. “I don’t know…I am not sure where she is anymore. That is why I need Magdalene’s help.” He was never doing things Camille’s way again. She had probably just wanted to see what he could come up with on the spot, perhaps she thought he would ‘atone’ for those blasted padlocks. Richard was kind of pleased she couldn’t hear what was going on, a quick glance behind him revealed her trying to edge closer.

“I see,” said Anabelle, stroking his arm and making him exceedingly uncomfortable. “Well, for a donation of £75, you can find the peace you need.”

“How-“ he started to cry out, but then Camille appeared by his shoulder and cleared her throat. “How about a cheque,” Richard said instead, reaching into an internal jacket pocket to retrieve the book.

“Not normally,” said Anabelle. “But since it is you!”

“Who still uses cheques?” Camille muttered as he wrote it out.

Richard checked Anabelle was busy with the next client before replying, “People who want to be able to easily cancel their transaction.”

“Oh,” Camille said. “That makes sense.” Richard began to count in his head, he got all the way to 4 before she said, “So what are you going in to atone for that costs £75? I thought Dwayne said the going rate was £50? Must be serious…”

Richard straightened, “Do I look like the sort of person who would share with _that_ woman something I actually need to atone for?” Camille shook her head. “Come on, let’s go before she thinks up some last minute charge I can only pay in cash.”

 

* * *

 

 

With hair that wild, and the surprised look that widened her eyes when they walked through the door, Richard had to admit that Magdalene Auguste certainly looked the part. She soon recovered though, lowered herself back down into the chair from which she had half risen in greeting. “My children,” she said, which rather reminded Richard of the nuns from his old school and made him shudder. “I was not expecting you, ah, please, be seated. How can I intercede?”

“Actually, Ms Auguste, it is us who are here to intercede,” Richard told her calmly.

“Is that so?” She said, a single eyebrow raised. But Richard couldn’t help but detect a sheen of sweat begin to appear on her forehead. She knew who they were, and she knew what she had done had gotten entirely out of control.

Camille had skulked in behind him before Anabelle could object, “Ms Auguste we understand that last night you informed an audience that the world would end at 4 pm today unless they make amends?”

“I informed the audience of what Baron Kriminel told me, yes.”

“And are you now accepting payment-“

“Donations,” Ms Auguste interrupted Richard. “Merely donations.”

“So people who don’t donate still get to see you?” Camille asked quickly. Ms Auguste lowered her eyes, and they had their answer.

Richard cleared his throat, “Accepting donations to intercede on people’s behalf and thus prevent the end of the world?”

“Well some individuals are unable to make amends directly, especially when the loved one they hurt has moved on, so I can help them.”

“Right,” said Richard. “Magdalene Auguste, I am arresting you on suspicion of fraud…” He finished the caution.

“But how can you prove I have committed fraud?” She asked, astounded.

“Well, Ms. Auguste, if the world does indeed end at 16:00 hours today, I promise you will be released without charge. Otherwise, it will be rather evident you were lying.”

Camille said, “Can we agree to just walk out of here without the cuffs Magdalene? Wouldn’t want to cause too much excitement out there, or for people to get hurt.” Magdalene thought carefully for a moment and then nodded once.

The crowd were certainly confused. Anabelle had tried to follow them, shouting all the way, but then Camille had threatened to arrest her for obstructing the work of a police officer and she had quickly backed down. Probably more afraid of having something additional to atone for than of the actual charges themselves. Camille expertly manoeuvred and ignored the questions being shouted at them, whilst Richard fobbed them off with a line about needing to discuss things down at the station.

The radio was going off repeatedly as they got to the car. Camille loaded Magdalene into the back and then answered it. She frowned at what she heard and then Richard heard her say, “Yes, we’ll be back soon.”

“What is it,” Richard asked, climbing into the passenger seat and trusting Camille to drive again.

“Apparently it is pretty busy down at the station, there is a queue or something.”

“Of people reporting crimes?”

“Of people _confessing_ crimes,” Camille told her. “Unless I misinterpreted what Fidel was saying. There was a lot of background noise.”

 

* * *

 

 

Well, Richard thought as they parked at the base of the stairs to the station. We aren’t quite as popular as Ms Auguste. The queue was out the doors, and starting to wind its way down the stairs. How could all these people have committed a crime and not have been caught? Oh well, this was going to look great for the statistics.

“Jeez,” said Richard drily. “I do hope we can process everyone before the world ends at 16:00.” He began to escort Ms Auguste up the stairs, there was no way he could even question her whilst this queue was here. Richard found himself sincerely grateful the Commissioner was currently on holiday in Miami. Or, perhaps if he was here, Richard could have dragged him in to do some questioning. He wondered when the last time the Commissioner had to arrest anyone personally. Richard gave Dwayne a “what the hell look is this?” look as he passed the officer, who was half sunk into his chair taking a statement. Dwayne just shrugged quickly, and went back to scratching down notes. Fidel was busy tossing tissues at a mildly hysterical woman. Camille went over to help him out.

“Would you like a lawyer, Ms Auguste?” He asked. Seeing everyone was busy, he processed the prisoner himself.

“No,” she said. “I trust I will be proved innocent in time.”

Richard trusted in the exact opposite to be true. “Very well,” he said, showing her to the cells. There was nobody else occupying them, which was odd, if people really were all here confessing their crimes.

“Right,” Richard said, coming into the office. He went to his desk, pulled out his note book, and having never had to deal with an actual queue before, decided his best option was to just shout, “NEXT!”

 

* * *

 

 

“What can I do for you?”

“I need to confess a crime! I was jealous of my sister’s goldfish, so I flushed it down the toilet but told her the cat knocked it off the table.”

“I…I’m not sure that _is_ a crime, Madam.”

“But how can I atone to my sister if it isn’t?”

“Er, buy her a new goldfish?”

“OF COURSE!”

 

* * *

 

 

“So you just smoked a small amount of cannabis given to you by a friend.”

“Twice. That’s what I’ve come to confess. Ready to do my time.”

“And how old were you, Sir?”

“16”

“And how old are you now, Sir?”

“I’m 82, you know!”

“No I didn’t, that is why I asked. Well, I think I’ll just let you off with a caution this time.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I cut across that field _every day_ to get to work. I know it isn’t public property, but it cuts ten minutes off my journey. Gosh, why couldn’t I just walk the extra 10 minutes?”

“Trespass is actually a civil offense, Madam, not a criminal one.”

“So I have to confess to somebody else?”

“Why don’t you just ask the landowner, Madam, if he minds you using that as a shortcut? If he does, stop.”

“Good idea! Thank you _so much_ officer.”

 

* * *

 

 

“So you see, I collected those seeds without permission. It is practically stealing. But they were such pretty flowers and I so wanted some for my garden.”

“Well, petunias aren’t exactly rare…”

“That isn’t the point!”

“No, of course not, well on this occasion we won’t be pressing charges…”

“But…”

“But I suggest you make a donation to the botanic gardens in question to…atone… for your actions.”

 

* * *

 

 

“It was a dare, you see, they would never have been my mates if I hadn’t have nicked that chocolate bar!”

“You were under the age of criminal responsibility at the time.”

“What does that mean?”

“Children under seven can’t be charged with criminal offenses.”

“But I am 21 now.”

“But you were seven then. You’re forgiven and are free to go. NEXT!”

 

* * *

 

After several more confessions, that consisted of a mix of things that were not actually crimes and minor things most of which happened so long ago no sane prosecutor would touch them, Richard took a break. He went over to each of his rather harassed looking colleagues desks in turn and confirmed what he thought, they were all dealing with similar cases.

“This is ridiculous!” He cried out loud. Sticking his head out of the door, he could see the queue was all the way down the stairs now. He had a strong feeling any real criminals were currently out there, committing crimes whilst everyone was distracted by the end of the bloody world. “Where is the megaphone?” He asked Fidel sharply. Fidel pointed in a distracted manner towards one of the lockers. Richard was too annoyed to try to find the key to the padlock for it, so grabbed his bolt cutters from earlier despite the cry of protest from Camille, and gained access that way.

He grabbed the megaphone firmly and marched towards the door. “Sir!” Camille cried after him. “Sir, what are you intending to do?”

“I am _intending_ to sort this mess out.”

He went on to the porch so that people outside and inside the station could hear him. The megaphone made a God awful screech as he turned it on, making him wince, but he was determined. “CAN I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE?” Richard half shouted down the device. Silence fell over the station and the market place below. “Right, I am Detective Inspector Richard Poole, please listen to the following. If you are here to report an incident of using cannabis, as long as it was only for personal consumption and you did not deal it, I am letting you off with a caution and you are free to go.” He paused as to his amazement, 70% of the people waiting turned and left, smiling happily.

Turning to Camille he asked quietly, “Honest to God, am I the only person on this island who _hasn’t_ smoked cannabis?”

He was raising the megaphone back to his mouth when Camille replied, “Probably.” He shot her a quick glance, and she just smiled back. He decided not to ask any questions he wasn’t going to like the answer too. “Furthermore, if you are here because of the petty theft of goods worth less than…” he thought about it a moment, “Ten pounds or 13 euro, you are also not going to be charged. We do not deal with trespass, slander or liable – those are civil offenses. Just, I don’t know, apologise!” More people left, in fact now there were only about five waiting to be seen. Dwayne and Fidel had come out as well to judge the level of success, both looked relieved.

“Right,” Richard said, speaking to all of them. “Let’s see if this lot are actually guilty of anything!”

 

* * *

 

 

They had all been traffic offenses. Richard was glad no murderers, aggravated burglars or drug dealers had been hiding amongst them because it was now 14:00 and he was parched and starving. He never got his 10:00 cup of tea, or any of the other cups he would have had between then and now on a normal day, not to mention any lunch. The person who had been driving without a licence promised so earnestly that he would report to court the next day that Richard let him go with complete confidence. To walk home, of course.

At last, the station was quiet again. It was a bit cooler now, as well, as clouds were rolling in – the wet season was about to begin. A good thunderstorm would clear the air. Though God help them if it, by coincidence, started kicking off at 16:00.

“Sir?” Dwayne was standing in front of his desk.

Richard looked up quickly from his paperwork and just nodded, “Yes, sure you can go.”

“How did you know...?”

“Because you always give me the exact same pleading look when you want to leave early, Dwayne,” Richard answered. “You two as well,” he said, waving his arm vaguely at Camille and Fidel as Dwayne scarpered out the station. “I highly doubt they’ll be any more crimes today, so go off early. I wouldn’t want to be accused of keeping you from your families when the world might end in two hours!”

For a moment, Fidel looked like he was going to refuse. At his age, Richard would have as well, but Richard didn’t have a wife and young child. The lure of being able to spend a few hours off with them proved too much. “Thank you, Sir,” he said, and Richard just gave him a quick smile.

Camille lingered a moment, “Will you be okay on your own?”

“I’m not on my own,” Richard told her. “I have Ms. Auguste for company. Perhaps I will consult her on what my future holds whilst you lot are out.” Camille remained standing there. “I’ll be fine. Somebody had to stay here in case the world ends, but it doesn’t need all of us. Now go!” Camille swung her bag over her shoulder and did just that, after nodding a farewell.

Richard stared at the empty doorway for a few minutes after she was gone, half wishing…but then he went back to his paperwork.

 

* * *

 

 

“Here you are, Ms Auguste,” he said, presenting her with the glass of water she requested. She had been quite firm in telling Richard a few moments ago that she would not answer any of his questions until after four o’clock. Since he could hold her 24 hours without charge, so this didn’t bother Richard too much. “Let me know if you would like anything else.”

“To be let go?” She asked.

“I meant more in the way of legal representation, or refreshments.”

“Ah,” she said, sitting down on the cot and taking a delicate sip. “Yes I thought as much, but if you don’t ask you don’t get. Well, since we are both stuck here for the duration, I would be willing to offer my services, donation free. I heard you speaking to Sergeant Bordey earlier.”

Richard paused, if this was supposed to be some kind of bribe, it was the oddest bribe he had ever heard. “No, thank you.”

“You have nothing you need to atone for?” She asked, giving him a doubtful look. Richard was reminded of Religious Studies at school, let he who is without sin caste the stone and all that.

“If I do,” he said carefully. “I don’t need _you_ to help me.”

“Then you are lucky,” she said as he walked away. “Not everyone is so lucky.”

At his desk, Richard stared at him phone for some time. He did some mental calculations to do with time zones. Then he picked it up.

 

* * *

 

 

Camille pulled her phone from her jeans pocket as she jogged lightly up the stairs. Twenty past three, forty minutes until ‘the end’. The station remained deserted. Her mother’s bar hadn’t exactly been heaving either, and many shops had shut up early. Camille suspected not everyone actually thought the world was ending, but it was a good excuse to take the day off. People seemed to be at home, with their families and other loved ones. And she as going to the station. Perhaps it was best not to think too deeply about the implications of her current actions, or she might change her mind.

The sky was clouded over and the rain would fall any minute. This would probably please Richard, he loved being able to use his umbrella. He had one in the station, one in the van, just in case, irrespective of whether it was dry or wet season. Sometimes when it really came down she caught him out on the station veranda, or his porch at home, just watching it. She had asked him if it reminded him of home but he had said no, rain in England was rarely comparable to the sort of downpours they got on Saint Marie. It was usually drizzle, sometimes even just a dampness that hung in the air and soaked you through even though it barely looked like it was raining. Some people may have found his descriptions of the different kinds of London rain tedious, but when he wasn’t complaining about something the way he talked, the way he described things, could be really rather lovely.

Richard was talking on the phone as she came to the door, and she paused there. A crime being reported now would be a pain. “Yes,” Richard was saying. “Yes, me too. I’ll try…I’m not very good…” He paused, listened, and smiled – a genuine unguarded smile – before saying, “I should have guessed that.” At that point he picked up on her presence, surprise evident in his face. “I have to go…no, no, and I will. Ok. Bye.”

“Your parents?” She asked instantly, curiosity getting the better of her.

“No,” he said simply.

“Oh, then who, somebody you needed to atone to perhaps?” She teased. “Left some broken hearted woman in England?” He ignored her, sitting back down beside his desk. She continued to press him, walking up to the desk and perching on the edge of it. A move she knew frustrated him, often in more ways than one when she wore a skirt or shorts. “Come on,” she cajoled. “You can tell me.”

He stared at her for a moment, fiddling with a pad of post-it notes before he went, “Fine. I know you want stop nagging me.” Richard leaned forward a little, and she instinctively did the same. “It was...” he began quietly. “None of your business!” The he threw the pad down and pushed back from his desk, walking to the fridge and retrieving a bottle of water. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you would be with your mother or…somebody.”

“Well if the world isn’t going to end at 4, why would I need to be with my mother?” She shot back. He just nodded. “Besides, my mother knows I love her and I know she loves me. And we have never been good at keeping secrets from each other – I think she knows every single one of my teenage antics. Besides, she had gone to sit with Great Aunt Celina. Said she feels guilty about not visiting as much as she should.”

“Well there isn’t much to do here, unless you are here to keep Ms Auguste company.”

“I didn’t come to keep her company.”

“Oh?” Said Richard.

“I came to keep _you_ company,” she said, slightly exasperated by his denseness.

He opened his mouth a few times, and Camille was about to save him by changing the topic, when a shadow fell across the doorway. They both turned and found Dwayne standing there. “Hello!” He cried cheerily. “Just came to finish up my paperwork.” He then strolled over to his desk, pulled the pile of paper towards him, and diligently began to work. Camille shared a look with Richard. Had they both stumbled into some kind of alternative universe, or had Dwayne hit his head and suffered a sudden personality change? “You know, I can handle things here, if you want to take a break? Here!” He leapt up. “I’ll put the kettle on for tea, eh? You can drink it on the porch. Should be a spectacular storm I think, and you’ll have a good view from there.”

Camille shared another look with Richard. She looked at Dwayne, looked back at Richard, and tried to convey that he should probably _say_ something. Eventually, though far too slowly, the revelation came. “Um Dwayne,” he began. “I gave you the _whole_ afternoon off. It is fine, you know, if you want to go and do other…stuff.” There was no need to suggest what that stuff might actually be.

“Oh, I’ve sorted everything, Chief.” Dwayne whistled happily as the kettle boiled. “Besides, think of all the other times I have gone home early, I think I can afford to make up a little of that time now!” The kettle clicked off, and Dwayne went about prepping two cups of tea, whilst Camille and Richard watched on in amazement. “Got something to tell you both after four. If there is an after four!” he said with a wink. “Here you are! Half three, why don’t you go sit outside like I said.”

Richard looked at her and shrugged. They went to sit outside.

“Half past three,” he said, as he settled down on the bench and blew on the top of his tea. “Glad all this malarkey will be over soon.” He took a sip, and grimaced, but only a small grimace. The kind Camille knew meant he would finish the tea, but would be longing for a better cup the entire time. “I’m sure you have better things to do with your last half hour than sit out here with me?”

Camille gave him a small smile, then bumped him with her shoulder, “Maybe I should be the judge of that.”

“Well,” he said, and she noted a small blush touch his cheeks. “Suit yourself.”

“So,” Camille began conversationally. “Say this _was_ the last half hour…”

“It isn’t the last half hour,” he interrupted her.

“But say it was, pretend for goodness sake Richard. What would you like to be doing for it? If you could do anything?”

Richard stared at his tea for what felt like a long time. Eventually he answered, “Well it doesn’t matter really.”

“Why wouldn’t it matter?” She cried. That idea seemed ridiculous to her.

“Well, presumably, at the end of the world you are dead. And once you are dead, you hardly know what you did in your last half hour, do you?”

“Because once you are dead, you are dead,” Camille surmised his beliefs. “You don’t think there is anything more to life than…” She gestured vaguely with one hand. “Then this?”

“No, not really,” he told her. “I mean, I can’t be sure, but…yeah…”

“But that is so depressing!” Camille cried, and meant it. Richard’s lack of any kind of spirituality, any kind of faith, has always been an issue between the two of them.

“Why is it so depressing?”

“Because…because it means you think all of this is just an accident, that it doesn’t mean anything,” Camille tried to explain herself. She hesitated, and then added the thing that bothered her the most, “And that feelings and, well, love, they don’t mean anything. Because they are just chemical reactions.”

To her surprise, Richard gave a huff of annoyance, clattering his tea cup down and he shifted to face her, hands on his lap. “I never said they don’t mean anything!” He snapped at her. “You know, just because…because, you know, I trust science when it tells me that emotions and love are chemical reactions, constructs in our body, doesn’t mean I don’t think they are important, and it _doesn’t_ devalue them. I still _feel_ them you know,” he told her earnestly, speaking nearly as much with his hands now as he was with words. “I’m just, I’m just trying to live my life and be a good person whatever that means, and make the world better when I can. My belief in science, in the rationale, it doesn’t make me dead inside. I feel exactly the same emotions as you and they are just as intense and, and, you know, overwhelming sometimes. I might not always show it but I can get blindsided…I _have_ been blindsided…by love.” He paused just long enough to take a breath, not that Camille would ever interrupt him. “And yes, I think you need to _work_ at relationships. And I think that working at them is what helps keep love alive. I don’t think they can be held together by romantic gestures alone, I think anyone who tries to do that isn’t really dedicated to making it work, isn’t willing to face up to the tough stuff and go through it. And yet you’ve still made me feel guilty about those blasted padlocks, because I know they mean something to the people who put them up there.” Another pause. “Though they should have read the signs,” he added. Then he picked his cup of tea back up and hastily took a few sips, staring out at the horizon.

It was the longest speech about emotion Camille had ever heard him give. She looked at him, already regretting his words, regretting letting his emotions get the better of him and letting her actually see him, and Camille loved him. How could she not?

“I’m sorry, Richard,” she told him.

He startled a little at the sound of her voice, “What are you sorry for?”

“I know that you’re just sometimes…naturally reserved. But I forget. I forget and I do act like, well like you said, that you’re dead inside. And I can’t promise I won’t do it again, because I’m not perfect…”

“God no!” He scoffed. Camille glared at him, and he hurriedly added, “But who is? Not me that’s for sure!”

“But I will try. And I don’t think I’ll ever forget what you just said. Which was beautiful, in its way.” She reached out quickly to the hand that lay on the bench between them, gripping the wood half to death, and took it in her own briefly. So briefly she didn’t give him time to decide if he wanted to return the squeeze she had given it, because she was afraid that he did not.

Now he was definitely embarrassed. The blush had crept all the way up his cheeks. Camille decided to change the topic, sort of, once again to help him out. “So, humans can make meaning in their own lives, yes?”

He looked at her like it was some kind of test, and she kept her features open. So eventually he replied, “Yes.”

“So, then, at the time, it _would_ matter what you were doing with your last half hour. What you chose to do. So,” she said with a smile. “If you could do anything with your last half hour, what would it be?”

Richard looked away from her again, and she noted that blush was still there, and a hesitation. “Ah,” she surmised, with a smirk. “Well I think most men would pick _that_. And quite a few women of course.”

“What?” He said, looking up at her. She just gave him a knowing grin, and he caught on to what she was implying. “NO! I didn’t say that, I didn’t say _anything_!”

Camille sat back, crossing her arms, “I could guess what you were thinking.”

“Well you guessed wrong!” He said, with an air of smugness. “Actually, I was thinking that this wasn’t too bad, really.”

“This?” she repeated.

“Yeah,” he said. “Cup of tea…”

“I saw you grimace when you took a sip,” Camille teased him.

“Well, yes,” he admitted. “But it isn’t too bad. Plus it was made by Dwayne, so it is very special in its own way.”

“So the cup of tea…” She prompted him to continue.

“Yes,” he said. “Cup of tea, and a lovely view.” He nodded out to the horizon. Out at sea still, a curtain of rain was falling. The sky was grey, dramatic, though here and there the sun broke through a hole in the clouds. The streets below were quiet, just the odd person hurrying between buildings and glancing nervously upwards. Even the birds seemed to be holding their breath. It was not normally what Camille would call lovely, but taking this moment to really look at it, has made her realise it was beautiful. “And of course,” Richard continued, a little hesitancy creeping into his tone. “Good company.”

He smiled gently at her, before glancing away. They sat in silence for a little while, and yes it was tense, but not all of that tension was awkward. And that fact made Camille feel something very dangerous indeed, it made her feel hope.

“Well then,” Camille said, trying to ignore the jump in her heart rate. “If this is the last half hour, you wouldn’t change anything then?”

He took a deep breath, turned his body towards her again. “I wouldn’t say that.” Then he quickly, ever so quickly, reached out and brushed Camille’s cheek with his hand. It was like it was a test, he was seeing if she recoiled, he she rejected him. But that wasn’t what Camille wanted. She wanted quite the opposite. Emboldened by her positive reaction, Richard slid a little closer to her, and Camille did the same. His hand came to her cheek again, thumb brushing against it gently, eyes flicking between her own and her lips. Camille found herself holding her breath, waiting for Richard to make the move to close the gap between them. Finally, he leaned in, and she shut her eyes…

“IT’S FOUR O’CLOCK! WE’RE STILL ALIVE!”

 

* * *

 

 

Dwayne practically slid on to the porch, such was his joy at the world not ending. Richard dropped his hand from Camille’s cheek and quickly slid back, down the bench and as far away as possibly without him falling off the end. Dwayne took one look at the two of them and he knew his efforts to hide what they had been doing, well about to do, had been in vain. “Oh shit!” Said Dwayne. “I mean, um, never mind me. I’m going back inside. I won’t come out for _ages_. Until you tell me to.”

He turned to do just that, but Richard called after him, “What were you going to tell us Dwayne?”

“What?”

“At four, you said earlier you had something important to tell is if there was a four o’clock. Well, you have kindly made it clear there is, so what did you want to tell us?” Beside him, Camille shifted uncomfortably. Her shoulders were down, her eyes to the floor, and Richard’s heart ached as he realised he was hurting her by trying to move on, by seeming to ignore, what had been about to happen between them.

“It…it doesn’t…well it _does_ matter. But it can wait a little while.”

“No Dwayne,” Camille looked up at last, but her voice wasn’t as strong as it should have been. “Tell us!” She rose, and Richard did the same. He wanted to touch her, to reassure her his current actions were not from regret, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when they weren’t alone. He willed her to remember his natural reserve, as she had referred to it earlier.

“Well,” said Dwayne, standing a little taller. “I’m getting married.”

Richard blinked. Apparently, irrespective of their current awkwardness, that statement was enough to get Camille to look at him, if only because she wanted to confirm what she had heard was true. “You’re getting married?” Camille asked in confirmation.

“Yes!” He told them, grinning broadly.

“Did I hit my head?” Richard asked her, was relieved when a little smile tugged at her lips.

“Not as far as I know.”

He thought for a moment, “Did Dwayne hit his head?” And this time she did smile properly.

“I am right HERE, you know,” Dwayne said, indignant. Whilst he was distracted by his annoyance, Richard deliberately brushed his hand against Camille’s. She looked at him again, smiling warmly.

“So, you’re marrying, Anabelle?” Richard ventured a guess.

“NO!” Dwayne cried, even more indignant. Richard had to admit he was relieved to hear it.

“Then who?” Camille pressed.

“Adelaide,” he told her.

“Adelaide,” Camille repeated. “Really?” Dwayne nodded emphatically. “Well it’s about time!” She punched him in the arm.

“Who is Adelaide?”

“The love of my life,” Dwayne said with a plain honesty. “We’ve been on again, off again, for years. She even gave up on me entirely and married somebody else for a little while. But now it is about time I got over myself and committed to her. So I am. And she said yes.”

Richard looked at him, and couldn’t help but smile. “Right,” he said, suddenly making a decision. He marched into the station and straight through to the cells, Camille and Dwayne following slightly behind him. “Good afternoon, Ms Auguste,” he said, as he unlocked the cell. “As you can see it is after 16:00 and the world has not ended. However, you are still free to go without charge.”

“I am?” Magdalene said at the same time as Dwayne and Camille said “She is?”

“You are,” Richard said with a nod. “That man,” Richard said, nodding at Dwayne. “Is getting married. Which is nothing short of a miracle. So perhaps you do have some kind of mystical powers. Or perhaps the impending nuptials of my colleague have merely put me in a good mood. I suggest you take advantage before I change my mind.”

Magdalene took a hesitant step out of the door. Richard cleared his throat and continued, “I will add that if anybody complains, I will put trading standards straight on to you. And I do hope you correctly declare all of you, ah, donations. As I will be making sure the tax office checks.”

“Of course,” said Magdalene, rearranging her shawl. “Good day, officers.” She swept from the room. Richard got the feeling she wouldn’t do anything so dramatic again. At least, not on this island, when so many people would be keeping an eye on her.

“Well!” Said Dwayne, watching her leave. “I thought a few drinks might be in order. But not until…say…eight or nine. Plenty of time to do other things in between now and then. If you wanted to.” He then dropped a wink and left them by the cells, whistling his way to his desk. Camille began to shake with silent laughter.

“It isn’t funny!” Richard told her, thoroughly embarrassed.

She walked up to him, and without prompting he placed his hands on her hips, but his eyes kept glancing to the wall behind which he knew was Dwayne. And as if the man could hear his thoughts…

“I THINK I MIGHT PATROL THE MARKET PLACE!” Dwayne said loudly from the next room. “I WILL BE BACK IN 30 MINUTES.”

This time, Camille didn’t try to contain the laughter. “It is a _little_ bit funny,” she told him. All Richard could think about was how beautiful she was when she smiled, when she laughed. She looked at him intently, “Do you want to come to mine later?” She asked, her fingers gently smoothing down the lapels of his jacket.

“Oh,” said Richard, a little disappointed. “Is that to meet Mulder and Scully?” He had hoped they could leave that until later.

Camille snorted with laughter again, and Richard didn’t understand what was so funny, hopefully she would explain to him at some point. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No we’ll definitely be alone. We can celebrate the world not ending.”

“Ok, well that is a plan I can get behind.” He told her. “Though the world was never going to end today.”

“Fine,” she said, somehow pressing herself closer to him. “We can just…make a little meaning in our lives. Experiment with a few…chemical reactions.”

Richard, who had had enough of wondering when the right moment to kiss her might be, just went for it. It wasn’t perfect, not at first, as it took them a few moments to get used to each other’s pace and rhythms. And _then_ it was perfect, as she pressed herself even closer into him, and threaded her hands through his hair. Richard felt dizzy, and realising it may well be lack of oxygen forced himself to break away for a moment.

“Wow,” he said. “I think that may well be my favourite chemical reaction,” he joked.

Camille smiled widely, “I’d wait until I get you home before you make that decision.”

 


End file.
